


sick boy.

by witheldjeans



Series: sick boy; healing boy. [1]
Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020), Final Fantasy VII: Advent Children
Genre: Angst, Angst and Tragedy, Blood, Bruises, Cloud Strife Needs a Hug, Dead People, F/M, Hearing Voices, Heavy Angst, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Scars, Scratching, Trauma, Violence, Visions, but will be more present in the second part, he's never really seen, mentions of blood and scars and bruising and violence, reader isn't seen either, sephiroth is just haunting cloud
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:41:54
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,063
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24113737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witheldjeans/pseuds/witheldjeans
Summary: look at mei’m right herecloud finds it’s almost difficult to breathe in the confines of the white tiled bathroom.
Relationships: Cloud Strife/Reader
Series: sick boy; healing boy. [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1739869
Comments: 3
Kudos: 43





	sick boy.

**Author's Note:**

> this is based off the song, sick girl by emma lu. don't necessarily support her, just love the song, it hits too close to home. it also reminded me of cloud, so here ya go. more ff7 content will hopefully be coming, and thank you for reading, leave a comment if you'd like, i love to read them!

_ look at me _

_ i’m right here _

cloud’s hands grip the edges of the sink, few remaining droplets of water beneath his palms create a slick surface - almost icky feeling of the moisture. 

a kind of tempo is set by the steady slow drip of water from the shower faucet. it’s the only sound filling the room to the brim. suddenly in the white noise of his head, the silence seems so deafeningly loud. 

tiny strands of his blonde hair cling to the sides of his face and neck, steam from his shower envelops the bathroom in a moist haze. 

it’s almost difficult to breathe in the confines of the white tiled bathroom. his eyes, hooded and low, look to his hand, releasing pressure in his grip with a gentle exhale from his parted lips. cloud’s palm, while shaky and hesitant to touch his skin, flattens on his jaw and runs down his face until he clenches his teeth. 

he almost enjoys the feeling of being unable to breathe, the enjoyment of feeling himself suffering is enough to damper his vitality. 

if he aches,, he can still feel. 

_ hold me just before i disappear  _

the nails in his palms as anxiety pooled in his chest and quickened his heart, a thin layer of sweat cooling his hairline. that kind of self-infliction was a lesson. that kind of panic was usually treated with a lunge into action after a soft gasp. anything to push himself.

his calloused thumbs dipping into bruises, a wince chokes past his throat and his face contorts in pain but he swallows it down regardless. 

pink scars building soft tissue on his pale freckled skin, he’d rub his hands down them as a kind of happiness filled his brain at the sight of the damage on his skin. 

he often felt pain. in fact, he felt this more than anything. he felt fire burn his skin, knives and blades slice open his flesh, punches breaking ribs, kicks landing bruises. this was his language, this is how he knew to speak. 

_ help me _

_ i’m in pain _

for a moment static blurs his vision as a green haze coats the room. his head hurts, he squints in pain as a ringing fills his ears. 

the mirror in front of him is beginning to disappear in an invariable smog consuming his vision. in his hands he can remember the feeling of the damp sink edges, hopelessly trying to remember the feeling of existing so he doesn’t leave this place. 

in between flashes of vision, he’s surrounded by fire. sephiroth stands dutifully before cloud as his nails claw so desperately into the soil to pull himself any closer to his burning home. the sound of sephiroth’s voice explaining how his mother begged for him to spare cloud is enough for cloud to feel like pound of ice just dropped into his stomach and cooled his arms in an anxiety inducing chill. 

he comes back after a few flashes of the devilish smirk that still haunted him to this day, the sound of his own audible gasps and begs bring him back to consciousness, a slight soreness in his knees alerts him that he’s hit the floor. he’s scrambled to the wall, back facing the sink, his head resting on the cool tile as his eyes open and the frantic search for any kind of human form becomes apparent in his frantic pupils. 

he isn’t shaking this time, instead his hands feel hollow without a substance to grab onto; something to ground him as his chest cools from the panic.

_ can’t stand the thought of living another day _

just as the static disappears and he comes to; as the heat within his bones begins to subside as cloud pants softly - hoping this was the end, forgetting for a moment to tell himself he was okay, his eyes begin to water. 

that treacherous feeling of a pull at the back of his throat as tears blind his vision for only seconds before they spill over his cheeks. 

_ i hurt and hurt and hurt some more _

he quickly wipes his fingers across his face as if hiding evidence from someone that he was crying, clenching his jaw to fight the traitor within him that allowed him to do this. he could handle it, he could always handle it as long as it wasn’t someone else, someone he loved, as long as he felt there was a way to stop it.

_ crawled up in a ball on the bathroom floor _

he scrambles to stand, hands bracing against the wall as his shoulder hits it - knees buckling until he falls again, this time a short hushed sob leaves his lips. his knees are pulled to his chest, body shaking with his cries as he quiets himself in his elbow and tries so desperately hard to not be heard. 

_ this voice in my head i hope it’s not me _

his chest hurts, everything hurts so bad.

please make it stop.

the static returns to fill his ears and deafen the deadly silence of the bathroom that haunted him, he winces as tears wet his wrists and cheeks, he’s swiping them away quickly only for more trails to be left on his reddened skin. 

“look at the death that surrounds you, cloud.” that voice says, the voice with the electric green eyes, slanted pupils shooting arrows through his chest and he can’t breathe, no matter _how hard_ he claws at his arms and prays for the voice to go away it won’t, it’s always there. 

“that shy boy, that could never stand up quick enough to save them hm?” the breath of the lips that torment him graces the shell of his ear and he turns over his shoulder to be met with nothing, he sobs again, his lungs aching at his harsh intakes of breath. 

“s-stop…” he chokes, voice raw in the back of his throat.

his face contorts as he winces through his teeth, eyes squeezed shut tight with his fingers in his blonde hair pulling at the strands to ground him in reality, but the static is still here his head is pulsating to the beat of his heart, there’s a ringing in his head and nothing will just go away. nothing is stopping. _why_ can’t it stop, _please_ stop.

_ just let me out, i want to be free. _

  
  



End file.
